The 2020 Reno Riot

“Come downtown,” the message said on my social media page, “They’re planning to burn down city hall.”

It was a note from my friend David. He was in downtown Reno watching as the shit hit the fan on the evening of Saturday, May 30.

Grabbing my camera, I raced to the door, kissing my wife before I left.

“Be careful, please,” she said as she shut and locked our door.

That was about five-and-a-half hours ago, and as I sit down to reflect on the events that unfolded, I feel a mix of emotions – anger, sadness, frustration.

It supposedly began with a peaceful protest over the death of George Floyd in Minneapolis. What started as a gathering of hundreds at City Plaza soon swelled to over a thousand as people from all walks of life joined in, chanting slogans of justice and equality.

I arrived in Reno in less than 30 minutes, parking on Second Street near the Aces Stadium.

As the crowd marched through the streets, their voices echoing off the buildings, there was a palpable sense of danger. Tensions simmering beneath the surface, a faction within the protest turned to violence, defacing buildings and setting fires.

City Hall bore the brunt of the chaos. Windows shattered, fires burning, the building filling with smoke. It was a sobering sight.

As the violence escalated, I found myself in the heart of the storm. With my camera, I documented the destruction one click at a time when I became a target.

A figure wearing a black helmet, astride a red and black motorcycle, caught sight of me and charged in my direction. With a crash, the attacker rammed into me, sending me sprawling to the ground, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs.

As I struggled to regain my footing, another assailant emerged from the crowd, brandishing a skateboard like a weapon. With a sickening thud, it connected with my back, sending waves of pain shooting through my body.

I watched and heard the skateboard snap, one half flying by me and into the gutter, the other a jagged piece of wood used to stab at me.

Disoriented and with no help in sight, I braced myself for the next blow, only to find myself surrounded by a mob of angry faces, their fists and feet raining down on me like a torrential downpour.

In the ongoing mele, I lost my grasp on my camera. It shattered against the pavement, but I had the presence of mind to grab the SD chip from the smashed frame.

With adrenaline coursing through me, I freed myself from the grasp of my attackers, scrambling to my feet, and dashed for safety north up Center Street, where law enforcement was gathering to repel rioters. Finally, behind the forming lines of law enforcement and the Nevada National Guard, a REMSA ambulance crew offered me medical aid.

As they checked me over for wounds or broken bones, a Reno Police Sergeant approached me to get my statement. I filled out the paperwork he gave me, handing him the SC chip before being released to head home.

It was a lonely walk to my truck and even lonelier driving home as I felt empty. All that and not one photograph to show for the shit I put myself through, though I knew it was more than that.

My wife hugged and kissed me as I pushed in the front door. She had been watching the riots on her cell phone and worried about my safety all evening till she heard my key turning in the lock.

My body will be sore tomorrow. But tonight, my heart hurts.